The Uncomfortable Adventures of Sam in Law School
by TigerLilyNoh
Summary: Instead of going with Dean to look for their dad, Sam chose to stay at school. Sam's life doesn't go as he'd hoped. Burdened with significant emotional trauma, medical problems, the stress of school, potentially unhealthy relationships, & the reemergence of the supernatural in his life - Sam tries to figure out how to survive in his strange new world.
1. Picking Classes

Author's note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.

* * *

"What are you going to take next year?"

Author note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.That was the big question on campus, so Sam shouldn't have been surprised when one of his classmates asked him. He just wasn't quite prepared to make small talk that morning. With finals approaching he was coming up on the one year anniversary of Jessica's death. Normally, he was quiet in class, but recently he'd barely talked at all. He didn't want to risk making one more friend to lose.

Despite his best efforts there were three other 1Ls who always ended up sitting by him in classes or when he found himself waiting in the student lounge. Part of their not-quite friendship was almost certainly because he shared his notes and outlines. He knew there was a grading curve and his scholarship depended on maintaining a 3.75 or higher GPA, but even the unspoken adversarial culture wasn't enough to make him turn his back on someone in need.

He hadn't thought in depth about the fall semester. There was still a lot of studying to do for the classes he was already buried in. It was a good question though. The enrollment window opened in two days and he had barely glanced at the course listings. It was going to be his second year, which meant that unlike his first year he could pick his own classes.

Criminal Law had been an even worse experience than he'd expected. The beginning of each case in the textbook contained a summary of some brutal set of facts. Too frequently he'd envision the events in a painful amount of detail. It was easy for his classmates to joke about The Queen v. Dudley and Stephens, but he knew exactly how messy a partially eaten human was.

Torts was less visceral since it consisted of lawsuits between individuals and more often than not didn't involve acts of violence, but he worried that his minor tells would be noticed by his classmates. He could feel himself turn pink every time they talked about trespassing or fraud. While studying false imprisonment he couldn't help but tally up all the times dad had technically restrained someone while questioning them.

Contracts had strangely reminded him of Dean. The class was all about codependent relationships and how to make things right if they went badly. The entire section on reliance sent him into a week-long depression. Even though Dean hadn't returned his calls since he'd refused to help him look for their dad, Sam had made another round of attempts to reestablish contact. Back when Dean asked for his help he hadn't thought that Dean needed him - was relying on him. Dean and his dad hadn't spoken to him in almost four years; Dean's self-sufficiency was more than established. Afterwards it had taken a month for Sam to swallow his pride enough to try making it right, but apparently his change of heart had come too late.

Property was a minefield of memories too. Various flavors of theft, squatting - more recently intestate succession. Not that many of Jessica and his belongings survived the fire. But it had still been an ordeal to separate the joint bank account they kept for living expenses. Her parents hadn't even known they were living together…. If he'd had any other source of funds he probably would have just let her parents take his portion of the account too, but his scholarship had expired the month after the fire. It was an absolute nightmare.

Civil Procedure wasn't so bad. It was about the rules that keep the system running rather than the tragedies that dragged a person into the system. In many ways he liked the subject, but it too hit a sore spot. The rules were rigid, couldn't be argued against, and frequently enough didn't make sense. Trying to parse the rationale behind the California and federal regulations had often felt like trying to decipher Dad's instructions. For eighteen years his life he had been ruled by "because I say so" and he wasn't going to endure that throughout his career.

Constitutional Law had shaken him more than he'd expected, but it wasn't related to his past. Early in the first semester he'd embarrassed himself and he hadn't quite recovered. Before class he'd had another one of those stress-induced hallucinatory headache things. Splashing some water on his face had helped, though he was still shaking when the professor called on him. Most of the question sounded like static, but the word "powers" rattled in his head. He'd parroted it back in an uncertain daze. As the professor was restating the question in exasperation, he felt another headache coming on and tried to leave the classroom. In his haste, Sam knocked over his coffee and tripped on the classroom's threshold. If anyone had seen the nosebleed he'd suffered with that headache, then maybe they would've spared him the reputation of class klutz.

He wanted a future that was safe and simple, away from anything that might remind him of Dean and his dad. Some sanctuary of reason, preferably steeped in a rich history. Others might call his ambitions boring - criminal and intellectual property law were what all the popular students were specializing in, but he didn't want that kind of drama in his life anymore. He didn't need to be popular. He would happily take the classes that elicited eye rolls in exchange for some peace and quiet.

"Mostly taxes," Sam responded with a polite smile.

Dad never had enough income to file a tax return - not that hunting came with a 1099 or W2. Taxes were something he could really throw himself into without reopening old wounds. It was something that could give him the stability he desperately needed. The campus clinic said that stability would help with the headaches and nightmares. Things were gonna start looking up, he knew it.


	2. Medications & Accommodations

Author's note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.

* * *

"How are the headaches?"

Sam absentmindedly played with the pen that he'd taken from the clinic's waiting room. He'd handed back the clipboard & questionnaire, but for whatever reason the cheap blue ballpoint had slipped his mind. The clinic probably didn't care about a 50¢ pen; on the scale of offenses committed by psychiatric patients he imagined a missing pen would rank pretty low. Also, surely some of his scholarship must be going to the campus's mental health clinic's pen supply. He tapped the pen on his knee with a little less guilt, then looked up at his psychiatrist.

All in all he liked Dr. Neves. She was gentle in her speech but had a composure that granted her authority beyond her years. Based on the photographs on her desk she probably had two kids in grade school. He suspected she was a good mom - he wasn't sure what standard to measure her against, so maybe his constructed idea of her would be his new yardstick. It was probably the fact that she seemed to really care about his happiness. Maybe that's why he assumed she was a good parent?

"The headaches are about the same, maybe worse. My neurologist wants to try another MRI." He opened his mouth to elaborate, hesitated, then decided to volunteer some of his troubles. "She asked me if I knew anything about my family's medical history. I told her that I don't and I couldn't reach them. She asked if she could try calling them - I think she doesn't believe me, like I just don't want to call them. I've tried, for months."

"I remember you've mentioned that before. Does the idea of her trying to reach out to them upset you?"

"No - not really. I mean, things aren't good between us, but I'm ready to turn the page... or not, if they don't want to. It's not actually the possibility of talking with them that's getting to me - I authorized her to tell them what's going on and I had to give her their contact info because I never filled in my emergency contact info - back at Stanford it was Jess…. I told Dr. Vu that they probably wouldn't answer any personal questions over the phone and I'd probably just have to deal with it on my own." Sam tapped the pen faster. "She told me that even if I don't want her to call them about this…. She said I should fill out my emergency contact."

He wasn't dumb; he knew she was worried that his symptoms would get worse. She was looking for his next of kin or some sort of advanced healthcare directive agent. He'd thought about setting up an AHD after having to deal with Jessica's death and her estate. Growing up he'd been painfully aware of the fragility of life, but only now did he understand the mountains of paperwork that shadow life's major moments. If something were to happen to him, the school would want to know how to proceed, and if he didn't give them any guidance a huge legal shitstorm would rain down upon the school.

That was one of the interesting things about law school, damn near everyone was a lawyer or lawyer-in-training. Everyone constantly worried about red tape and exposure to liability. It meant that you never had to wonder about ambiguous class assignments, but at the same time reserving a private room in the library nearly called for providing applications in triplicate. Of course the school wanted a family member to call on if there was a matter of life and death. He'd probably give them Bobby Singer's info... if he could remember the real phone number.

"How does that make you feel?"

"I don't know. It'd be nice to have answers, just not the kind she's thinking of. I mean, either the MRI will show something and I'll know the bad news or it won't show anything and I still won't know what's going on." Sam forced himself to hand over the pen to her, then he ran his fingers through his hair while taking a deep breath. "I thought it'd be different. Even after Jess died, I thought that I could have a quiet simple life. I knew school would be hard, but I could keep my head down for three years and at the end maybe it'd be better. I'd have some distance, a fresh start and hopefully a long boring life. Now with the way Vu's talking... I just want to get through school. I don't even want to think past two years."

"It's fine to focus on the present," Neves reassured him. "Many students can't envision what the future will hold."

Sam looked up at her. He wasn't entirely sure why, but her statement shook him. He thought of his nightmares & hallucinations. Since having those symptoms he kept getting these weird feelings of deja vu. He'd had to stop reading the newspaper because it'd just spur his imagination, which made his anxiety worse, which would trigger more of his symptoms, which made him more paranoid, which made his imagination even worse, and so on. It was part of his anxiety & PTSD; he read too much into things. He'd get freaked out by the littlest statement or occurrence. He was out. He was safe. He was a civilian. Sam repeated his mantra in his head a few times.

"Are you okay?" asked Neves. Based on her look of mild concern he'd probably been nodding or whispering to himself.

"Yeah, I'm just a little frayed right now."

"Have you been following your treatment plan?"

"Yeah, Endep twice a day, an hour at the gym in the morning, and mindfulness exercises before bed."

"Are you taking your Xanax when you need it?" She knew him well. Either he was being obvious or she really was as sharp as he thought.

"The Xanax makes it hard to think. I started smoking instead. A guy in my dorm offered me some. I think it helps a little," Sam admitted. He was relieved that she didn't seem mad. She was probably used to much worse.

"You know you're not supposed to change your medication without talking to me or one of your other doctors."

"Do you really want an email every time a student gets high? You'd hit max storage capacity on your email account before the end of the week." He chuckled.

"I don't care if you're just getting high, but if you're replacing your Xanax with marijuana, then I should know." Neves opened her desk drawer and withdrew a small pad of paper. "Do you want a prescription for it? It'll be cheaper that buying it from your neighbor."

"Yeah, thanks." Sam smiled at a thought. "I don't suppose my school insurance covers weed?"

"We're a liberal school, but we're not that liberal," Neves commented as she started writing out a prescription. The silence that stretched between them while she wrote made him feel a bit self-conscious. He wanted to fill the void, so he moved on to answer her next logical question.

"The meds & stuff are good, it's just school that's wearing me down."

"Are classes going alright? I know you didn't like some of your 1L classes."

"The classes themselves are okay. I just don't know how I'm going to make it through finals. I'm worried that with all the stress I'll lose an hour of each exam to the headaches alone." The mountain of medication he'd have to take to prevent the headaches would basically incapacitate him, which wasn't really an option during a high-stakes three-hour exam.

"Have you registered for accommodations?" Neves asked matter-of-factly, but he didn't understand what she was talking about.

"Accommodations?"

"For your disability."

He stared at her completely dumbfounded. He had problems, but he wasn't disabled. He could bench press 250lbs, run a mile in 5:30, and got in the 99th percentile on the LSAT. Yes, he was having a rough period, but rough periods happen.

"I'm not disabled," he tried to explain. "I'm stressed and I get headaches."

"You been having acute neurological symptoms for over six months. It doesn't matter if the cause is physical or mental, you have a condition that puts you at a disadvantage compared with your classmates."

"I'm not special." Sam's voice wasn't as confident as he'd wanted.

"Everybody's special, even if you don't want to be."


	3. It's Complicated

Author's note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.

* * *

"Sam, some guy is looking for you," said Debbie, one of the resident assistants for Sam's dorm. She was dividing her attention between studying and watching a soccer match on her laptop, but she'd glanced up in time to spot Sam returning from running a few quick errands.

"Yeah? What'd he look like?" Sam asked as he looked around the lobby for his surprise visitor.

"Dirty blonde hair, kinda pretty boy. He's probably still waiting up there. I told him you were just grabbing your laundry."

"Fuck." Sam looked at stairwell leading up to his floor. He wondered whether Dean might've finally come back and tracked him down. This was a terrible time for that kind of drama. He was starting to get into a rhythm. The idea of stirring up the past was unappealing, but so was hiding out in the lobby with a basket full of his underwear.

He walked up the stairs while trying to run through opening lines. What could he say that he hadn't already left in a dozen different voicemails? Would he even be willing to let Dean into his place? It'd be easier to talk in his room, but that meant it'd also be easier to fight. Maybe there was something to be said for keeping their interactions to a public location? That would put Dean on the defensive, having to verbally tiptoe around the hunting aspects of their falling out.

"Hey Sam, it's been a long time."

Sam saw Brady standing by his door. Brady, with his sandy blonde hair and pretty face - he should've known it'd be him instead of Dean. Sam wasn't sure how to feel. In some ways it was a let down, that things between Dean and him would remain unresolved, but on the plus side Brady was a less complicated relationship... slightly less complicated.

"Let me ply you with wine and food. It looks like you need it," Brady said as he held up a bottle of Merlot and a plastic bag of to-go boxes.

It had been about a year and a half since they'd seen each other. Brady had stopped by to check on him after Jess' death. Everything had been so confusing and wrong that somehow they'd gotten into another argument over some stupid thing. That had been the final straw that sent him down the peninsula to attend law school at Santa Clara instead of staying at Stanford. He'd wanted to get away - to run away again. Occasionally, he thought about reaching out to Brady, but it just seemed overly complicated. Yet, despite everything, he was a comforting face during a difficult time, so Sam let Brady into his studio-style room.

"I'm digging the whole spartan pauper thing you've got happening here," Brady commented on the barely furnished room.

"It's an easy look to pull off when you're broke." Aside from his scholarship, he technically was living below the federal poverty line. When he was done buying his medication and food, there wasn't enough to splurge on things like a TV. Thank god he'd had his laptop with him when the fire happened. Even a bottom of the line computer would've cost over a month's worth of income. He'd managed to stretch his budget thanks to grabbing the occasional free meal at club meetings, but that couldn't be counted on for every day of the week.

Every month or two he thought about taking out some loans, but the idea made him more uncomfortable than hunger. Maybe it was how often he saw financial fraud growing up or maybe it was his fear of being too much in the system. Eventually he'd need to be just like everyone else, but he wanted to wait until the statute of limitations was done running on any causes of action he may have committed before leaving Dean and his dad. In a few years he'd feel a lot better about doing anything that might initiate a credit check.

"What are you doing for money?" Brady asked as he started unpacking the bag of La Villa ravioli on the flimsy card table.

"I tutor undergrads." Sam pulled a glass and coffee mug from his kitchenette cupboard, then sat down to join him. "Latin, history, a little math - whatever they need."

"You always were the jack of all trades." Brady started uncorking the bottle of wine. He poured himself a glass, then started filling Sam's mug, but Sam stopped him at half a glass. "Do you like it at least? Maybe thinking about going into teaching afterwards?"

"It's okay. I try not to get involved with their personal lives, so it's pretty dry. I don't know what I want to do long term at this point." He didn't want to think too far ahead. "What're you up to?"

"I'm still in med school, focusing on pharmaceutical development. My dad pulled some strings to get me set up with a job after graduation."

"Big pharma? You're going to serve the right hand of evil?" Sam chuckled, but honestly he could see Brady merging his interest in medicine and his shark-like business instincts. He was the kind of person who would end up with hundreds of subordinates and a seven figure income - the only question was whether he'd sell sin or salvation. Sam had been Brady's moral compass for years, he was curious how far his friend had strayed after so long apart.

"They save lives too," Brady countered.

Sam glanced helplessly at the outer pocket of his backpack, which held a plethora of over the counter and prescription medication. He had a point. Maybe Brady hadn't gone as dark side as he'd feared?

"Fair enough." Sam finished his wine and didn't object when Brady refilled his mug. "You're only a year into school and you've already got a job lined up?"

"My dad can be pretty cutthroat." Brady grinned.

They chatted about school, current events, movies, music, and more. It was nice to have a real conversation with someone other than his psychiatrist. Brady may not have known about the hunting, but he knew him better than basically anyone. Sam could talk fairly candidly, though he wasn't quite prepared to get into the whole hallucinations and headaches thing. Expressing too much vulnerability all at once would just be an invitation for Brady to embed himself back in his life. It was good to reconnect, but it could quickly get out of hand - and it did.

"Move back up to Palo Alto." Brady leaned in across the little table. Sam knew he was trying to make puppy eyes at him - that was a move he knew too well to be fooled by.

Sam spoke into his mug as he finished his third glass of wine. "I don't have that kind of money, even with financial aid."

"You could move back in with me."

He'd seen that offer coming a mile away.

"I don't know if that's a good idea." They had each downed half a bottle of wine and were a bit too drunk to be having that conversation.

"I'm two blocks from the Caltrain station. You could catch the express train and get to school in 15 minutes." Brady continued his pitch. "The offer's always open for you. I live to serve."

"I call bullshit on that." Sam laughed at the idea of Brady doing charity work.

"Well... yeah, but you're-."

"Different." Sam finished the sentence for him. Brady always liked to remind him that he wasn't like the others. Being set apart from normalcy had bugged Sam for a long time until he'd noticed the admiration on Brady's face each time he'd said it. "Yeah, I know."

"No, you have no idea."

* * *

Sam woke up to an awful headache that could've been from either his medical condition or the mild hangover, but he was a little surprised to realize that he hadn't had a nightmare. It was a nice change of pace, but he didn't want to start reading anything into it.

Brady was still sleeping, partially sprawled across Sam, and just as naked as he was. Sam rolled his eyes at the horrible mixing of signals, then tried to wriggle free without waking Brady. He grabbed his watch from the floor next to his shoes, where it'd fallen in the chaos. Brady shifted, moved closer, and started gently nibbling on Sam's collarbone.

"Don't, not right now," Sam said as he started putting on his watch.

"Come on, you need to loosen up. You're too damn tense." Brady started rubbing his neck, but Sam gently stopped him.

"I'm gonna be late for class."

"Then skip it entirely," Brady whispered in Sam's ear. "Problem solved."

"If I get even one C I'll lose my scholarship. I need this." Any playfulness in Sam's voice disappeared when he started talking about his desperate state. "It's not just school, it's my healthcare, and half my meals."

"I was serious about helping you out." Brady started moving down Sam's torso to give him head, but Sam grabbed his arms more forcefully to stop him.

"I thought we weren't going to do this anymore." He knew bringing up their agreement would wholly kill whatever lightheartedness may have still existed, but he didn't want Brady to just pretend that everything was fine.

Brady's expression turned colder. "You and Jess were the ones that wanted to try the whole two-to-tango thing."

"Don't give me any of that shit." Sam's eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke. "You were the one pushing. We were happy and you couldn't just leave it."

"Pushing? I just wanted the three of us to be out. Whenever we were in public it was like I was just a friend. I fucking introduced you two and I got delegated to third wheel whenever you two wanted to fit in. You were so concerned with being normal, or appearing normal - Did you two even tell your families that you were living together after you two left?"

"My family doesn't count and you know it." Sam hated it when Brady brought up Dean and his dad. It was a known sore point, which meant the mild jab was intentional.

"Did you even meet Jess's parents?" When Sam didn't answer, Brady's eyebrows raised knowingly. "Was the funeral the first time they found out she was fucking someone?"

"They're old fashioned. If all three of us were still living together it would've been so much worse - it was…." Sam dragged the pillow down over his face. He didn't want to be having that conversation with his ex-boyfriend, especially while naked and in such an awkward moment.

"Did they tear you apart for living together?" To Sam's surprise, Brady's voice was offended and slightly concerned instead of mocking. "What happened?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. You shouldn't have to take shit from anyone." By some fucked-up standard, Brady's proximate outrage felt sweet and comforting.

"They'd just lost their daughter." Sam pulled the pillow away from his face, but wasn't feeling good by any means.

"They barely knew Jess. Meanwhile you were the love of her life. Fuck them."

"Brady…." Half of him wanted to argue with Brady, but it was hard to tell if those feelings were based on sympathy for Jessica's parents or his own low self-esteem. The other half was still trying to process that despite everything that had happened between them, even on such a sensitive subject, Brady was sticking up for him.

"Stop telling yourself that you come second. You need to learn to put yourself first sometimes. You let yourself turn into such a pushover." Brady pinned Sam to the bed. Sam's watch pressed into his skin, reminding him of his tight schedule. He tried to get up, but Brady held him down.

"Come on, I'm gonna be late." Sam gave him an unamused look. "I'm not in the mood for playing games."

"I'm not playing around. You used to have some fucking confidence. Where's your will to fight?" Brady pressed on Sam as an attempted provocation. He could break all of Brady's limbs in about six seconds if he tried, but that wasn't the problem. Maybe he had gotten a little complacent during his depressive period.

"Get off," he said with more determination.

"Make me."

Sam pulled Brady down into a kiss. His arms wrapped around Brady's back, gripping his ass and the back of his head. Suddenly, Sam rolled them both off the bed onto the floor. His hand protected Brady's skull from colliding with the hardwood floor. Sam leaned back from his position pinning Brady to the floor.

"I have class until noon. Just lock the door if you aren't gonna wait for me."


	4. Thankful

**TRIGGER WARNING: Discussion of suicide**

Author's note: Special thanks to Lastarael for beta reading this chapter.

* * *

Sam checked his phone. It was Dr. Neves calling again for what must've been the third time that evening. He wanted to keep dodging her, but worried that at a certain point she'd send campus security to his room. He saved the latest draft of his State and Local Tax outline, then answered the call.

He didn't bother greeting her. "Before you ask, I'm fine."

"You missed our appointment. I was worried about you." Despite the expression of concern her voice was the normal reassuring calm she used at their meetings.

"I'm just really busy studying." He looked at his book and handout covered floor, then rubbed his stinging eyes.

"Sam, you know that you're likely to be facing a lot of triggers right now. It's important to study, but if you don't take care of yourself all that effort will end up hurting you."

"I know." He sighed as he leaned back against the side of his bed.

"Are you sleeping?"

"Not as much as I should be."

"When was the last time you ate?"

Sam looked around his room. There wasn't any food left in there besides a box of saltines and most a ten pound bag of rice. Everyone was so caught up with studying for finals that the student clubs weren't meeting anymore, cutting off 20% of his reliable meals. Even Brady was hunkered down up in Palo Alto preparing for his own exams. Sam had spent too much time trying to remember when he'd last had a decent meal.

"I'm still on campus. Let me buy you dinner," Dr. Neves offered.

She knew he didn't have any money. It was embarrassing to be so obviously dependent on the charity of others. He didn't want to put anyone out. He didn't want to have that failure of his exposed.

"I couldn't-"

"You not showing up to our appointment gave me an hour's pay in exchange for catching up on Dexter. I'm trading you dinner for that hour of honesty back."

He appreciated her attempt to give him some illusion of bargaining power.

"I don't want to talk about everything in the student union."

"Kabab and Curry, it's a few blocks from campus. It's small and quiet," she suggested.

"Isn't it against the rules for us to be fraternizing?"

"You're about twenty years too young for me."

* * *

He grabbed his bike and sweatshirt, then started riding across campus. It was already dark at only 6:30pm, but for all he knew it could've been later - he hadn't left his dorm all day. The chill clear air made him huff a laugh. Almost anywhere else this sort of weather the day before Thanksgiving would've been a blessing, but here the 55° air was bemoaned.

Most of the campus was cleared out, having recessed for the holiday and study week before final exams. Though he still had to dodge the occasional skateboarder, in all probability they were undergrads.

Stanford had been an incredible experience, but they took themselves too seriously. He could travel to any number of cities in the country or the world and strangers would be impressed by the fact that he'd graduated from there. The accomplishment told everyone who would listen that he was bound to do great things - well, at the very least his future earnings would reflect great things. But he'd left. He'd been hurt and wanted to heal in a gentler place. It wasn't that Santa Clara Law was an easier school; in some ways it was harder. But it was lesser known - beyond the microcosm of the Bay Area it was barely heard of, yet it had nearly everything he needed. The law school was involved in community service and social justice, which appealed to his altruistic predisposition. Also, the small law school was focused on taking care of the students' emotional well being - hell, he'd taken three different courses that started each lesson with guided meditation exercises. Welcome to the Bay Area.

He shuddered at the thought of being at Stanford last Thanksgiving. It had been a horrible enough experience to begin with, but having some distance and perspective on the incident had made him grateful for the small community of support he currently had. Tomorrow would be a difficult day. He knew it, but he'd been subtly preparing himself for it.

The restaurant was on the corner of a dark intersection, bordering a residential area. There weren't any cars around, there were barely any signs of life. As he started locking his bike to a stop sign he heard a rustling in the bushes across the street. His hand immediately went for the switchblade in his pocket. It was just a cat or something. Nothing was after him. Nobody was interested in him. It was better that way.

The restaurant was indeed small and fairly quiet - probably because most people were getting ready for the looming holiday feast. Dr. Neves was already there and waiting for him. She wasn't even bothering to look at a menu. Clearly she knew what she was doing.

"How've you been?" she asked as he sat down across from her.

He felt a little uncomfortable seeing her outside of her office. It made her more of a person, nearly a friend - he wasn't sure that he was ready for the maintenance and vulnerability involved in friendships.

"Do you mean with school or otherwise?"

"Whatever you want to talk about first." She smiled politely. He knew she'd eventually ask him about all the major topics.

"My ex came back into my life."

"Brad?"

"Brady - close though." He was just grateful she remembered that his ex was a guy. "We've seen each other a few times this month. He wants things to go back to how they were - at least as close as possible."

Sam noticed that he was compulsively thumbing the blunt edge of his place setting's knife. She watched him become aware of the physical tell. He thoughtful stopped, then placed his palms flat on the table. Playing with a knife in front of one's psychiatrist was almost certainly a faux pas.

"What do you want from your relationship with him?" She mercifully didn't mention the knife.

"I'm not sure. Everything is so up in the air right now with finals coming up. I don't want to think about it. I don't want to make that decision. It's all too much." There were too many things in his mind to worry about. He couldn't even pin them all down. It felt like there was always something lurking in the back of his head, waiting to spring forward, some last minute problem that would trip him up - something he couldn't prepare for. His fears were like those headaches, an ever-looming threat.

"Is he respecting your uncertainty and vulnerability?" She was asking if Brady was taking advantage of him. That was a fair concern.

Back when they weren't on speaking terms he'd had a lot of harsh things to say about Brady. The picture he'd painted wasn't pretty, and admittedly parts of it were objectively true.

"He's not being… aggressive if that's what you mean. He wants to protect me, but if I tell him to back off he'll listen." Sam shifted in his seat. "I can spot his bullshit from a mile off. I believe him when he says he loves me... I'm just not sure I'm ready to have a serious relationship again. I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Does he know about your headaches?"

"Not really. I've had a few headaches around him, but I haven't told him how bad things are."

"Why haven't you?"

"I don't want to worry him. He'd want to stay down here with me more - he's got his own finals to deal with." Sam absentmindedly crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively. "I don't want him to know about the hallucinations. I don't want him to ask me about them, what I imagine."

"You're scared that he'll judge you because of them?"

For a moment Sam couldn't speak. He didn't want to admit it for fear that maybe he should be judged based on the hallucinations. The things he saw were terrifying and they came straight from his tortured brain. His childhood had been full of things that go bump in the night and the bodies they left behind - it was no wonder he was imagining such horrible things. But how could anyone begin to understand that without knowing what he'd been through?

The waiter dropped off their food and Dr. Neves allowed the silence to stretch while she assembled her plate. She was inviting him to work up the courage to tell her as much as he dared.

"The hallucinations and my dreams... I have violent thoughts." Sam didn't meet her eyes while he spoke. It was hard enough to face himself. "I don't ever think about hurting people. It's not me hurting anyone. I just see them dying."

"Who's dying?" Her voice was noncritical, but he noticed that she hadn't taken a bite of her food.

"All sorts of people, people I've never met or seen…. That's not true. I dreamt about Jess dying. She was bleeding and there was a fire…." He played his words back and worried how it must sound. "I wasn't there, when she died. I was at the library, there's video of me -"

"I don't think you had anything to do with her death." Dr. Neves seemed sincere. "Do you feel responsible for it?"

"Yeah."

"Survivor's guilt is normal when you lose a loved one, but it's not your fault that she died."

"I just wonder…. If I had been there. If Brady had been there." Sam ran his fingers through his hair while sighing. He knew that that train of thought was only asking for more pain. Looking for something to preoccupy his twitchy hands, Sam began dishing up his own food. He wanted to try to continue the conversation, but he wasn't going to fall into the trap of what if. "My mom died the same way - almost the same way."

"It was a fire?"

"Yeah."

"You're not responsible for what happened to Jessica or your mother," she offered in her perpetually calm, reassuring voice. "This guilt you're having is only hurting you. There's so much going on in your life that's causing you stress, which has to be making your health worse. You need to forgive yourself and focus on self care."

"I'm trying," he said reassuringly.

"I know you are."

* * *

They chatted about his classes and the standard finals-related stress. She suggested he take up some hobbies that could be an outlet for his worries. It was hard to picture himself painting, but he made a mental note to try it out during the winter break. Throughout the conversation he could feel her moving through some list of topics. As more items were checked off he could sense her getting closer to asking him about last Thanksgiving.

"You can ask me about Thanksgiving, what happened," Sam offered. "I know that's why you wanted to check on me. You don't have to skirt the issue."

She got right to the point. "Do you have suicidal thoughts?"

"Sometimes... I have thoughts about dying. Most of the time it's not me doing it." He thought about the rustling in the bushes when he was locking up his bike. Two or three times a day he was ready for something to lunge at him from the shadows. "When I was growing up, there were... a lot of times when I was scared."

She'd probably read his full medical report and knew about the two dozen old, poorly-healed fractures that had been discovered while investigating the source of his headaches. He didn't even know whether he wanted to correct the assumption that his dad had been the one to inflict all those fractures while he was a kid. It was practically true, whether it was his dad throwing the punch or merely exposing him to a monster's punch.

"Are you scared now?"

"That I'll die?"

"That or just in general."

"Every day... almost every day. It's the days when I'm not scared that really get me, like maybe I don't care. Like I'll just wake up and nothing will be different, but I just won't find a way to make this all worth it."

"What do you do on those days?"

"For awhile I would get high with anyone in my dorm that would let me spend the day with them. The last time I asked Brady to come down. He dragged me to dinner and a movie." They'd also had sex, but he didn't want to derail the conversation into the delicate territory of whether it was wise to fuck while severely depressed.

"Tell me what happened last year. Did you try to reach out to anyone?"

"I didn't know anyone that well. I thought I could just be alone, but... it was too much."

"Did you try to kill yourself?"

"I don't think so. I think it was an accident."

It was the first Thanksgiving after Jessica had died - she'd loved the holiday and made a big deal each year they were together. A joyous celebration of their little improvised family. It was peaceful comfort, the feeling of home he'd never had as a kid.

But last year she was dead, Brady and he still weren't on speaking terms, and the campus was empty of almost everyone he knew. He didn't have anywhere to go, no one to call his family.

He drank too much, way too much. He'd woken up in the ICU the next day. His RA had found him unconscious in the shower. When the EMT arrived his blood alcohol was at .41% and peaked at .43%. If he'd been any smaller he would've undoubtedly died of alcohol poisoning.

The school added the condition to his financial aid that he attend at least one alcoholic support group per week. He had to get a signature for each meeting's leader and everything. He still drank, he just tried to avoid it when he was depressed or alone. But on the plus side, his mandatory therapy appointments were greatly appreciated.

"Are you worried about how you'll handle tomorrow?"

"Maybe a little, but things are different than they were. I'm not saying things are amazing, just that I have something - a few things going in my life again -" An alarm on his phone interrupted him. After silencing the alarm, he took a small pill bottle from his pocket. He took a pill with some water and smiled at Dr. Neves. "Life's not perfect."

"Nothing's perfect, so don't even strive for that." She reflected. "Holidays are very difficult for many people. There's a mistake that we can achieve some picturesque moment with our family and friends. But often enough people don't have a family capable or willing to give them that love and support, and even their friends might be unavailable. When things are hard like this, don't even strive for great. Just look for the good and hold onto that."

"What if tomorrow I look around and can't find any good?" Sam huffed a sad laugh. "I mean it's Thanksgiving - that's kinda the point of the day."

"Don't beat yourself up - like I said, good, not great or perfect." The waiter brought over their leftovers, which had been packed up in to go containers. She pushed the bag of food toward Sam.

"You've got chicken tikka instead of turkey, aloo gobi for your mashed potatoes, mattar paneer for your veggie, and some gulab jamun instead of pumpkin pie. It's not perfect. It's not great -"

"Actually, the mattar paneer was pretty great. But I get what you're saying." Sam watched her hand a credit card off to the waiter, then he glanced back at what must've been at least $60 worth of food in from of him. "I can't take all this."

She rebuffed his attempt to take less for himself. "I'm going out of town for the holiday, it's just going to be wasted if I take it."

"Thank you." He didn't know how to express how powerful such a small gesture was to him in that moment, but he suspected that she knew.

"I want you to do something for me. At some point tomorrow, make a list of ten things that you are thankful for. They don't have to be profound, just sincere. Being thankful for leftover curry is sometimes enough to make it through a tough day." He smiled helplessly at the thought. "If you email me your list, I'll bring you some tamales when I get back into town on Sunday."

"You can't just bribe me with food all the time."

"You wouldn't be saying that if you've had my tía's pork tamales."


End file.
